


pink

by fishysama



Series: goretober 2019!!! [18]
Category: Junjou Romantica
Genre: Asphyxiation, Beating, Goretober, Goretober 2019, Guro, M/M, Mugging, Murder, Oop, Punching, Strangulation, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-27 08:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21116009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishysama/pseuds/fishysama
Summary: goretober day 18: monochrome + one colori thought love was supposed to be a bit more dreamy, like a wonderful pink.(inspired bythis)





	pink

Misaki makes his way home from grocery shopping, humming to himself as he walks through the streets. Typically, Akihiko would come shopping with him, but he had fallen quite behind with his latest book. Not that it was anything out of the usual, but Misaki felt a bit lonely picking out green peppers without his partner’s disapproving comments.

Life felt a bit… bland without Akihiko by his side. Misaki embarrasses himself by merely thinking this, but that didn’t make anything less true. Everything felt a bit monochrome without him, even the bags Misaki had gotten while shopping.

There was some sort of promotion going on in the local supermarket today, maybe for some popular anime or manga (was Easter coming up?); Misaki vaguely recognizes the logo. All of the shopping bags were decorated with this cute pink bunny face on either side. He took an extra one with him, thinking Akihiko would like it,  _ U-bag-i, _ Misaki thinks to himself and giggles.

It was also much later than when Misaki usually goes shopping; he doesn’t realize this until leaving the shopping center and seeing the light-polluted Tokyo night sky.  _ Oops. Usagi-san’s probably starving. _

So, his stroll is a bit more fast-paced than usual, his humming silenced in an attempt to avoid drawing attention to himself. It wasn’t necessarily a dangerous city, but it wasn’t the safest either. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with extra precaution.

So he strolls, hums, and gets yanked into a back alley without any previous warning.

The moment he’s thrown against the red brick wall and his skull cracks, that naïve sweetness leaves him immediately. _ What? _ He drops his bags, fearful of what was to come next. They wouldn’t be out of his sight for long, however.

Even the slightest self-defense— covering his face with his forearms, cowering— was rejected by his attacker, who slammed his arms back before punching him in the stomach.

For whatever reason, Misaki couldn’t bring himself to scream. It was the only thing he had left to try, yet something had frozen in his throat, the rigor mortis of shock. He only lets out a small whimper, allows tears to form in the creases of his eyes. He looks to his left and sees no passer-bys passing, to the right and sees an even darker-darkness of the alleyway. He whimpers again but is punched to silence, the hit landing between his ribs. He inhales sharply, hissing.

The attacker doesn’t ask for his money, he simply loots through his pockets, taking everything he can get his hands on. When there’s no cash in his wallet, he curses, throws it down, and kicks Misaki’s shins.

It is then that he realizes that the man is not wearing a mask or any sort of identity-hiding device, at that. He also recognizes him somewhat, under all the darkness and confusion and fear. He cannot think of a name, location, or event. But he looks at that face and thinks ‘Oh,  _ him.’  _ A coincidence, maybe. Or a delusion.

He bends over, holding Misaki still with just his hand, not that Misaki was necessarily struggling to escape either. He still this encounter as a mere shakedown, that this guy would take his money and phone and maybe groceries and that would be it. He just had to be quiet and comply and it would all be over. And, even if Misaki were to try to escape, there was always the possibility of a weapon being involved. Takahiro taught him so.

But, the attacker does not gather Misaki’s groceries and wallet. Rather, he picks up the spare bag, opens it, fans air into it with the wapping of his wrists. His eyes look dead, kinda pissed, and… something Misaki couldn’t put his finger on— what he now knows as murderous. But at that moment, he’s confused and beginning to become fearful of this palm crushing his chest. He remembers something— a headline, a new serial killer in the Shinjuku area, a strangler, a suffocator— but before he finishes the thought, he sees pink.

A film of bubble gum (think ‘rose-colored lenses’) and everything goes from dark and dreary to the ideal romance he always wanted— not ‘wanted,’ but  _ ‘expected’ _ — to have with Akihiko. He’s in a romance manga suddenly and the breeze shifts and the cherry blossoms blow through the window and Akihiko brushes Misaki’s hair behind his ear and says something embarrassingly cheesy and this guy that Misaki almost recognizes ties the bunny ears of the plastic bag behind his neck and pulls it taught and watches Misaki inhale nothing.

It’s then that Misaki fucks politeness: he lets his hands go wild and hit and scratch and lets his legs kick and he screams soundlessly for a moment before realizing that he was wasting the oxygen he already didn’t have.

The attacker, despite being short (taller-than-Misaki short) and not exactly muscular, was completely unaffected by these counterattacks. He’s focused on the task at hand: the pulling of inflexible plastic and the listening of this stranger’s muffled screams and thinking his own erotic and dreadful thoughts that come with these actions.

There’s a denial present in Misaki until the last few moments, a denial that this was really happening, that this was happening to him, and that this would be the last thing that would happen to him ever. Up until the moment, he kicks, thrashes, spits, and claws. But when the moment comes— the black dots and stars in his lovely pink and cream vision, the faintness, the fading— he realizes he’s run out of time to pray and wish people good wishes and say goodbye and see his life flash before his eyes like you’re supposed to. He doesn’t even think of the word “death,” the finality of it, until his limbs fail and seize and his mouth foams and his vision goes monochrome before going black.

The man holds him up still, waiting for that faint, remaining breath to finally cease, and once it does, drops him. Little bunny boy, forgotten on the alley floor.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://juroguro.tumblr.com/)


End file.
